


Throw the Fight if You Want To

by lifeisverylong



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Brotherly Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Maglor's having such a bad time of it, Oath of Fëanor, POV Maedhros, War of Wrath, blatant Fëanorian apologia, everyone's having a bad time of it (but it's not nearly as bad as canon!), oh g-d you can fit so much self-indulgence in a couple thousand words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24462649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lifeisverylong/pseuds/lifeisverylong
Summary: “Doomed you were, and Doomed you are, and Doomed you shall ever be. You have spilled the blood of your kin a fourth time, and lost your right to change course and beg forgiveness. The Valar reject your petition to stand trial and consign you to Endor to find what peace or torment as you may. Go now from this camp; none shall stop you. Do not return.”Or, Elrond and Elros are there with the host of Valinor when Maedhros and Maglor steal the last two Silmarils. It shakes Maglor enough that the whole plot gets shaken up. What’s a little eternal damnation if your brother and foster sons still love you?
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitimo & Maglor | Makalaurë, Maedhros | Maitmo & Maglor | Makalaurë & Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur
Comments: 13
Kudos: 112





	Throw the Fight if You Want To

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by my friend [ Ryan](https://baruch-barnes.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> Confession: never in my life have I read The Silmarillion. I'm familiar with it from the fandom and Tolkien wikis. If I've written something that opposes canon, ~~I don't care because my headcanons are so much sexier than Jirt's ideas~~ let me know and if possible, I'll tweak this story to be more canon compliant!
> 
> For the sake of this story, assume that 1. Maglor and Maedhros sent the twins away some time before the end of the War of Wrath, and therefore don’t know that they fought in it, and 2. Elros hasn’t yet decided to take the path of Men. That second one doesn’t really matter, though; it just simplified things a bit.
> 
> Title from 'Brother in Arms' by Guise.

“Halt! Sons of Fëanor, stay your weapons.” Eönwë’s voice rang out effortlessly over the host.

Maedhros had known that Maglor was right; this was a fool’s errand. _Fool’s errand! That is far, far too kind a term for what we’ve done here,_ he thought darkly. _You are a kinslayer four times now._

Maglor had been right; they had been unutterably foolish, and now they were facing down a Maia and an army, surrounded by enemies who should have been allies. In the crowd that had already formed around them, Maedhros saw faces that he had not seen since he had left Tirion to follow his father to Formenos. He knew that even those he did not recognize must have come from Valinor; exiles living in Beleriand would never have looked so shocked to see Fëanorians standing with swords raised against other Elves.

Maedhros glanced to his side and saw Maglor’s gaze flicking around rapidly. Despite Eönwë’s words, Maglor was already prepared to treat the confrontation as a battle, widening his stance and tucking the box containing the Silmarils a little closer to his chest. And then Maedhros, looking past his brother and assessing the Elves around them, many of whom had now drawn weapons, he thought he saw– _but surely it could not be, surely they had not been part of this battle, had not come so close to Angband– but then again the peredhil have always been more mature than either Maglor or I wanted to believe they are–_ Maedhros saw Elros’s mouth fall open in shock. But it was Elrond who cut his thoughts short, sharply crying out,

“Ada, don’t!”

Maedhros didn’t try to stop himself from tensing, both at the words and at the naked anguish in Elrond’s voice. But it was nothing compared to how Maglor reacted: caught totally by surprise, he gasped and swayed, nearly losing his balance despite his battle-ready stance. All of a sudden he shoved the Silmarils to Maedhros. In defiance of several centuries-worth of experience as a soldier, he dropped his sword. It thumped dully to the ground, muffled; Maglor looked muffled too, as if someone had just wiped away all emotion from his expressive face. Only his eyes showed his horror.

Maedhros only had time to choke out a panicked “Maglor–” before Maglor was falling into a bow, kneeling before Eönwë with his gaze resolutely in the mud. His shoulders were up around his ears, as if to avoid accidentally catching sight of his foster sons in the surrounding crowd.

“Lord Eönwë,” Maglor paused there, as if he had no idea of how he intended to go on. His face was still terrifyingly blank. “Lord Eönwë. If you would still allow us to, I would choose to go before the Valar to face their judgment.”

Maglor broke off in a choked sob, and in defiance of his own hard-earned battle training, Maedhros found himself down in the mud too. He sheathed his sword and passed the Silmaril box to his left hand, putting his other arm around Maglor in a vain attempt to comfort him.

Maglor had always been right. They had hewn to the oath and in doing so, had spilled yet more blood, forcing their foster sons to witness that for the second time over. Imagining that he could hear panic coming from Elros or Elrond or both of them, Maedhros turned towards Eönwë as well. He did not move his arm from Maglor’s shoulders. “Lord Eönwë. I second my brother’s plea.”

Eönwë considered them with terrible patience. Finally he asked, “And what of the Silmarils?”

“I forsake them. On my behalf, and on behalf of my house of which I am the head, I forsake them.” As Maedhros had hoped he would, Maglor started just a little bit at these words, recognizing what Maedhros had said long ago on the shores of Lake Mithrim, renouncing the crown and swearing loyalty to Fingolfin. It felt to Maedhros as if it had been another Elf entirely who had done that.

Maedhros laid the box with the Silmarils on the ground in front of him and forced his fingers away from it. He took a steadying breath and continued, “Furthermore, I forsake the oath, on my behalf and on behalf of the house of which I am head. I relinquish my right to claim the Silmarils; they are yours to do with as you will.”

There. It was finally done. Maedhros had known that Maglor was right. The time had come to give up the fight that had brought about more evil than he even knew how to measure any longer. Maedhros had tried and failed once already to forsake the oath, but this time, kneeling in the presence of a herald of Manwë, he felt something unlock in his heart that had remained unchanged the first time he had tried to do this.

Eönwë was silent for several long moments, his eyes seeming to simultaneously bore into the Fëanorians and turn inwards in contemplation. Maybe he was in conference with Manwë, or perhaps even with Námo. Finally his gaze sharpened and he spoke. “Doomed you were, and Doomed you are, and Doomed you shall ever be. You have spilled the blood of your kin a fourth time, and lost your right to change course and beg forgiveness. The Valar reject your petition to stand trial and consign you to Endor to find what peace or torment as you may. Go now from this camp; none shall stop you. Do not return.”

Maedhros blinked. Murmurs sprang up in all of the surrounding host, and Maedhros forced himself not to listen. The peredhil were standing too far away for any comment from them to reach his ears, and he did not care to hear what anyone else had to say about the humbling of the sons of Fëanor. Eönwë stepped back, clearly done dealing with them, and Maedhros forced himself to turn away from the Ainu, pushing aside his now-burning desire to demand an explanation, a more thorough condemnation, _anything._ Instead he turned fully to his brother, placing his hand on Maglor’s heaving ribs to steady him.

“Get up, Maglor. It’s time to go.”

Maglor hardly reacted. After a moment his chapped lips parted and he croaked out, “Maedhros, what have we done?”

“Maglor. Get up.”

“I cannot.”

“You will.” And with that Maedhros collected Maglor’s sword (several onlookers tensed, but Curufin had forged that blade and Maedhros would be damned – ha! – before he left it to be abandoned in the mud), re-sheathed it, and hauled his brother to his feet.

“Maedhros.”

“I’m here. What is it?” Looking around, Maedhros managed to meet eyes with Elrond and Elros, standing several rows back in the host. Their faces were just as terrible as Maedhros had feared, but Elros at least had the sense to hold Elrond back from running to join them. Crying out for them was one thing, but coming forward to aid them directly after the herald of Manwë had reiterated their Doom would be much more foolish, even potentially dangerous. Maedhros flicked his gaze towards the path out of the camp that the host was starting to clear, both hoping and fearing that this message would be received and heeded. Once again the anguished call of “ _Ada!_ ” rang out in the thick air.

Again Maglor flinched. “What have we done?”

“Káno. It’s time to go.”

And so the sons of Fëanor departed from the camp of the host of the West.

* * *

The path the host had opened for them facing east, which was convenient, as that was the direction Maedhros knew they had to go to escape the roiling seas that he thought he could already see on the horizon. Eärendil and his jewel were starting to rise above them, heralding the oncoming night.

Maglor had no interest in any of this, gaze fixed as it still was on the ground just in front of them. He lacked the energy to go on sobbing, but tears continued to spring up in his eyes.

They had been trudging over the ashen land for more than an hour by now, and Maglor had only stirred from his reverie once, early on, to ask, “Did you hear...?”

Maedhros reflected that there was probably no being left in Arda who scared Maglor as much as Elrond and Elros did. “Yes, Maglor, of course I heard. I’m so glad they’re alive.” He didn’t have the heart to address the fact they were moving steadily away from their foster sons, and Maglor didn’t raise the point either. Likely he felt he had no right to want to see them again.

Looking behind them again, Maedhros saw the first torches being lit in the Valinoran camp. He judged that they had perhaps put enough distance between themselves and the host; he felt no pull towards the Silmarils but knew that the host would not show the same amount of mercy if they crossed paths again. Luckily the Amanyar planned to return to the coast, while the Fëanorians were making for the mountains in the east. Maedhros also saw– _there._ Something was passing back and forth in front of the distant torchlight, making it flicker. Maglor solicitously stopped walking when Maedhros slowed down to look more carefully, and a moment later they stiffened as they heard the light sound of Elven footsteps approaching them rapidly from behind.

The Fëanorians wheeled around to face the newcomers, who were already practically upon them.

For the third time that day they heard Elrond called out for his ada. In disbelief, Maglor answered, “Elrond!” and then the twins were upon them. Elrond wasted no time in plastering himself to Maglor’s front, wrapping both arms around him and burrowing his face into Maglor’s neck. Elros embraced Maedhros with almost as much fervor, and in disbelief Maedhros drew them closer to the other pair. Having been granted the reunion that Maedhros had not allowed himself to hope for, it was almost unbearable to not be all together in the same exact place.

Eventually Maedhros couldn’t restrain himself any more. “I am thrilled to see you again, peredhil nin, but I was not certain you would come after us. You were safe with the Valinoran host.”

Elros easily read the meaning behind the words and, pulling back slightly, had the audacity to roll his eyes a little. “And we will be safe when we return to them. Did you think we came after you without their leave? The king did not– well actually neither king, not Finarfin nor Gil-galad, spoke against it.”

Maedhros let out a careful breath and allowed himself to relax a little more. He had hoped that would be the case. He would do well to remember that not all the Eldar were as vindictive as Fëanorians.

Maglor seemed to have nothing careful left in his bearing or manner, and managed to lean into them all at the same time. Quietly at first, and then a little louder with each iteration, he proclaimed his love for each of them in turn. It was as if those were the only words he remembered how to say, the only cardinal truth that he was still willing to cling to.

* * *

Eventually, Maedhros got them settled on the ground in a semblance of order. It was no real camp without a fire or bedrolls, but Maedhros and Maglor could see the stars coming out in the east, and the far-away torchlight just barely glowed faintly on Elros and Elrond. The twins murmured to each other while Maedhros cleaned his own sword and then Maglor’s. Finally he knelt at his brother’s side, making sure Maglor was well-draped in his cloak. Maedhros pried his clenched hands apart to make him hold a full water-skin. “Drink, brother. Are you hungry?” Not that Maedhros knew what food, if any, they had with them, but he supposed he would figure something out.

“I feel as if I’ve been hollowed out, and there is practically nothing left inside of me.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “I love you.”

“Well, I mean to ask about physical hunger, and not spiritual, but thank you for telling me. As for the hollowness, give it time; I have no doubt that it will pass. I, of course, love you too.”

Maglor did not respond except to let his eyes fall shut. He had been alternating between drinking in the sight of the twins and staring off at nothing at all, seemingly as tired in body as he obviously was in spirit.

Maedhros considered his oldest _(every year even older than their other siblings would ever be)_ younger brother carefully. “Can I tell you a secret, Káno?” He worked to make his voice a little sly; he could feel weariness and grief beating down on his temples, but boyhood antics like this usually still managed to bring both of them at least a bit of happiness.

Maglor hummed. Maedhros fancied that he could hear a smile in the sound as his brother leaned further into his side. “Yes, always.”

Maedhros couldn’t keep a smile from creeping into his own voice as he replied, “In truth, I did not think you the son of Fëanor most likely to have a breakdown today, brother.”

That was met with a very pointed silence suddenly coming from the other side of the camp. It got Maglor to raise his head, outrage mingling with no small bit of fear in his expression, as if he was suddenly worried for Maedhros's state of mind. Finally Elros swore with feeling under his breath. Elrond giggled, somewhat hysterically, and the outrage in Maglor’s eyes tipped over into disbelieving amusement.

“To answer you in truth, my dear, grim brother,” he said, fighting a smile, “I thought much the same!” And Maglor let out a laugh that proved contagious, and soon all four Elves were gasping for air in helpless mirth. “Oh, brother, what have we done!” Maglor couldn’t help but ask yet again, this time grinning broadly and shaking his head in disbelief.

“Whatever it was, we got away with it! Look at us, walking free!”

“Free? You call yourself free in your renewed Doom? Well, maybe it shouldn’t be possible, but so do I.”

Maedhros let out a last guffaw and reached again to embrace his brother. It seemed that in the absence of other oaths and obligations, he was throwing himself into the responsibilities he had always cheerfully foisted on himself as an elder brother. He had neither the desire nor the will left to curb those impulses, and Maglor was clearly not complaining.

Once again Maglor leaned into the embrace, this time reaching out his hands to grasp both Elros’s and Elrond’s. Maedhros watched the starlight shine in the eyes of his brother and children, seeming to bounce to one to the next without pause or end. _What a ridiculous place and time this is, to feel hope again._

Elrond cleared his throat. “We think we’ll stay with you til morning. How does that sound?”

“It sounds delightful, Elrond,” Maglor answered. Then his voice lost a little bit of its warmth. “We would not choose for you to follow us any further across this wasteland.”

The twins’ faces fell; or rather, their resolute expressions faltered to reveal the deep sadness underneath. “We know, Ada," Elrond said gently. Maedhros knew that the peredhil understood that their paths no longer lay with the Fëanorians. “We know we have responsibilities that draw us elsewhere.”

In a gruff voice, Maedhros said, “We are very proud of you, our boys.” It was a bitter world indeed that measured maturity in a person’s ability to give up things or people who mattered to them, but such was the nature of Arda Marred. Maedhros could hardly believe that Elrond and Elros were coming of age so gracefully within it.

Elrond’s eyes were wide. “Thank you. But before we part, let us have this night together as a family?”

Maedhros could feel Maglor’s breath catch before he spoke.“My children. My children. Who could possibly argue with that?”

And Maedhros was happy to give in to a night of unanticipated joy, in a land that held not Morgoth, not his dreaded oath, but against all odds, three people who loved him.


End file.
